In Death, There Is Truth
by Magi Silverwolf
Summary: Summery inside. Warning Character Death. Recently Edited to go more along with HBP.
1. Disclaimer

Summary: Harry committed suicide after Voldemort's defeat. How would those surrounding him react to the news that the Boy-Who-Lived decided that he didn't want to? What would be revealed?...What would be hidden from view?

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling. I do not own Harry Potter. And I'm not making any money off of the use of the characters found with the pages of that series.

Author's Warnings: This is a work in progress. I may go back and change chapters later on. In addition, if you notice anything like typos, grammar and spelling mistakes, please tell me so that I can fix them. There will only be five chapters...hopefully.

Update: Placed on This story contains spoilers for Sorcerer's/Philosopher's Stone, Chamber of Secrets, Prisoner of Azkaban, Goblet of Fire, and Order of the Phoenix. And yes, I know it's not out yet, but just for kicks, let's say Half-Blood Prince, as well.

Rating: This story is rated PG-13 due to content that some children due to maturity level should not be exposed to.

Reviews: Please review. Do you like it? Hate it? Is this part or another unclear? Do I have them stay in character? If not, do I explain why this behavior is different? Please, tell me how I'm doing. Oh, and another thing: I love reviews so please feed this artist.

Giving Credit: I try to give credit where it is due. But I am likely to take from everywhere and anywhere.

Quotes: I will be starting each chapter off with a quote that I feel fits the chapter. Feel free to correct me, if you feel that I am wrong--it would also be helpful if you gave me a more appropriate quote. However, I will not use full songs or long poems as quotes.

Content Warning: This story contains references to mental abuse, violence, suicide, homosexual situations, innuendo, adult relationships, murder, death, dismemberment, poison, organized crime, depression, and, of course, Voldemort. Did I miss anything?

Language Warning: I cannot promise to watch my language--you know, pardon my French, Welch, Greek, Gaelic, and any other that pop out.

I hope you enjoy this story. And now, may I present:

In Death, There Is Truth


	2. Belladonna's Blessing

"My will was to live worthily as long as I lived, and after my life to leave that should come after, my memory in good works." --Boethius, c. A.D. 524

Chapter One: Belladonna's Blessing

Hermione's feet took her to Severus Snape's personal lab without her really noticing the trip. The room had its usually cold astrosphere and despite the professor's tenure of eighteen years, it still looked like the old Potions classroom. The man-in-question was hunched over a cauldron, stirring silently. The yellowish glow made him look like he was about to be sick. He didn't look up when she came into the room, no sign of acknowledgement that there was another human being in the vicinity. She stood rooted to a spot just inside the heavy oak door.

It was so cold.

Unable to function properly, her mind latched onto that circling thought. _'How was it that outside it was sweltering, but inside it was freezing? Did Severus keep it that way?'_ As if finally sensing Hermione, the potion maker finally looked up. Black eyes meshed with bright brown. She could see his lips move, but no words reached her ears. Had the cold froze her brain? This wasn't like her. She always listened to professors.

"Hermione?"

The word finally made it through the haze inside of her, for all the good that did. _'What is a 'hermione'? Would they be tested over it? Oh, I must pay attention.' _A hand found her shoulder, almost shocking in its warmth. Another found her chin and tilted her head so that their eyes met again. All the customary masks had been striped from his eyes. She could see the concern there, and the worry.

"Hermione, are you alright?"

_'Oh, I'm Hermione. Why is it so bloody cold?'_ She clenched her fist and something crumpled. Hermione looked at the parchment dumbly. Severus lifted her hand. Carefully, as if she would break, he unfolded her fingers from around the letter. _'Letter--that's what it is. I got that letter as I was packing to go home. What did it say?' _

Her mind came to life then. Traitor that it was, it informed her of Harry's death in gleeful tone. For a moment, she reveled in the fact that her brain was now working fine. Then the realization hit her like a train. _'Harry was dead. Harry. Was. Dead. Harrywasdead. Harrywasdeadharrywasdeadharrywasdead._'

"Harry's dead," she breathed. Her brain was now doing a figure eight instead of the circle of a few moments ago. _'Harrywasdead. It'ssocold. Harrywasdead. It'ssocold.'_ "Why is it so cold down here, Severus?"

"What did you say?"

"Why is it--"

"No, before that, Granger."

"Harry's dead."

_'Oh, my god, Harry's dead.'_

Someone started screaming. The lab echoed with it. The very sound of it scared her and she began screaming as well. The other person just grew louder. Dimly, some part of her knew that the screamer was only herself, but reality had become so muddled since Hedwig had shown up. Something slapped her cheek. The stinging did nothing to silence her.

Someone's fingers cupped her swelling cheek. Something cool pressed against her lips and poured down her throat. She choked for a moment. Acting on instinct, she swallowed. The screaming stopped. Severus' arms wrapped around her, enveloping her in his warmth.

"It's so cold, Severus," she managed after a few minutes.

"I know, Hermione."

"Why is it so cold?"

"I--" He started to move away from his student.

"Please, don't; you're warm."

He settled back against her. Together, they crouched on the dungeon floor. It was a long time before the tears started, once they did, Hermione couldn't seem to stop. Severus just held her. His hands rubbed her back as the belladonna ran its course. It wasn't as good as a Calming Draught but it was the closest thing he had.

Minerva came in at some point. Their eyes had met over Hermione's weeping form. The old witch had said something about telling Poppy something. Then she had left Severus with the sobbing Gryffindor. It was all a blur except for Hermione's small voice. He knew the echo would be forever in his mind.

"Harry's dead."

----

'Dear Hermione,

I know that you will not understand why I felt that I had to do this, but please don't blame yourself. I've been in a very bad place for a long time now. Cedric died because of me. Sirius died because of me. Remus died because of me. My mum and dad died because of me. I nearly got you and Ron, my closest friends killed several times. All that blood was on my hands, Hermione, and it wouldn't wash off. I can only hope that you can forgive for this.

I'm better now, Hermione. I'm with Sirius. My mum and dad are here. Perhaps someday you can understand that I'm finally happy. I held on for so long because I was the only one who could kill Voldemort. My purpose for living was over. It was time to move on. And I'm happy, Hermione.

Please take care of Hedwig for me, and yourself. And please let Ron down gently.

I love you, Hermione.

Until we meet again,

Harry J. Potter'


	3. Tears for Two

"Our life is made by the death of others." --Leonardo da Vinci

Chapter Two: Tears for Two

Ron Weasley was convinced that anyone look at his room now would think that it was Halloween instead of the second day of the summer holidays. Every inch of available space had been covered over the years by Chudley Cannons posters and memorabilia. The lurid orange clashed badly with his hair, but he didn't care. He was a die-hard fan, perhaps the only kind of fan that they had. His black dress robes were laid out on his bed. He didn't want to add them over his black suit just yet. Not yet.

Six weeks ago, they had been celebrating You-Know-Who's defeat. The Final Battle had been long and grueling. It seemed that no sooner than the Light stuck down a Death Eater than they had lost one of their own. So many had fallen. Bill had fallen in the first wave. His wife, Fleur Declour, had been killed trying to retrieve his body. Luna had been killed by Lucius Malfoy in the second wave. She had been the first of the D.A. to die. Sadly, she had not been the last. That title belonged to Colin Creevy, the tenth and last of the Defense Association. Perhaps what had stung so badly was Remus Lupin's death. He had died rounding up Death Eaters after Voldemort's death. But despite all the blood that had been spilt, they had celebrated.

Darkness was gone.

Yet today they dressed in black again.

Ron's stomach threatened to rebel. He leaned his head against his window. As if mocking the loss of Harry Potter, the sun shone brightly upon the Burrow. After only a few moments, Ron was forced to turn from the sunlight. Why, Harry? Why did you do it?

Ron knew that Harry had hated the Dursleys. Was finding out that he would be going back there one last time, the final straw? Mum had invited him to come and stay. There was Sirius' place. Harry might not have liked living there, but it was somewhere other than the Dursleys. There was even the place in Godric's Hollow that had been rebuilt from the place that his parents had stayed while hiding from Voldemort.

_'It's your place now, Ron.'_

"Shut up," he whispered to the internal voice. The little voice only did a happy jig. Ron snarled at that part of himself. How dare it be happy! Harry--_his best mate_--was being laid out for his funeral today. He should be completely sad and downtrodden. It_ wasn't_ right to be happy that Harry's death had given him so much. _It was not right._

But, oh, Merlin, he was happy.

Harry was gone. No longer would he steal the limelight. Wasn't that petty? His best friend was dead and all he could think about was the attention he garnered over the years? Yet, even better than the attention, was the money Harry had left him. Not just money either, estates, manors, even a house elf or two.

Harry had left the entire Potter and Black fortunes to him. It was more money than he had seen in his whole life. Now it was all his. He wouldn't have to scrimped to send his kids to Hogwarts. They could all have robes of their own. They would be Weasleys to be proud of, instead of ridiculed.

His stubborn pride rose up, thanking Harry for dying. Immediately, remorse began eating at him. He could almost hear his mother scolding him. Then a voice sounding like Hermione's joined in to the clamor. There was Harry's telling him it was all right. And behind it all, that voice still cheered.

"Shut up!" he shouted. His hands slapped over his ears, vainly trying to block out the noise. "SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUPSH--"

"Ronald, are you okay?"

His mother's voice came from the other side of his locked door, silencing all the voices. He stood shaking just a few steps from the window. The sunshine pooled around him. He took a deep shuttering breath. Then, just for good measure, he took another.

"Ronald Weasley, can you hear me?"

"Yes, Mum," he finally answered. "I'm..." _'Happy, sad, thrilled, angry, lost...'_ "I'm fine. Sorry for shouting."

"Well, be sure that you're ready soon. It's almost time to go."

"Okay, Mum."

He waited until he heard his mother walking down the stairs before he tried to move. He made it as far as the extra bed in his room--Harry's bed--before his legs gave out. The sobs ripped themselves from his throat. Harry was gone. Ron was rich. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out which one was sadder.

----

'Dear Ron,

I'm so sorry for what I'm about to do to you. I know that you've always wanted to be rich, so I'm leaving you the fortunes I've inherited from my dad and Sirius. Do not worry about Hermione. The money that Mum left me is going to take care of her as well as the investments that my dad made shortly before his death and those that Dumbledore had made for me. I know that you will be confused at first, but be grateful for the money, Ron. I know that you'll get a lot of use out of it.

I'm sorry for leaving you like this. I really am. But I had to do it. I just couldn't stay there anymore. I just couldn't live knowing how many had died because of me. I couldn't live while they weren't. I hope that someday you'll understand..

Marry Parvati. She has always loved you. Hermione doesn't, Ron, not like that. I'm sure she did at one point, but now there's someone else she loves. Just support her when she figures it out.

Oh, and do not meddle in Ginny's love life too much. She's practically grown up. She can make her own decisions.

I love you, Ron.

Your best mate,

Harry J. Potter

P.S. Don't worry about Hedwig. I asked Hermione to take care of her.'


	4. A Father's Son

"All you need in this life is ignorance and confidence, and then success is sure." --Mark Twain

Chapter Three: A Father's Son

"I have known Harry since the train to Hogwarts in our first year," Hermione said, only audible because of a well-placed charm. To Severus' well-trained eye, she appeared worn down. Her honey-colored mane was pulled back into an intricate French braid, but already, wisps had found freedom. Her eyes, rimmed as they were with kohl as per Wizarding custom, had been smeared with tears. The silent tears tracked black down her cheeks as if she was some humanoid cheetah. The black tunic that she was wearing looked rumpled, only sensible since he had found her curled up on his couch this morning in it. The toenails of her bare feet (again Wizarding custom) had been painted with black muggle nail polish.

_'How dare that insolent little brat do this,'_ he thought, giving up trying to listen to the eulogy. Rage was a much better option than letting his soul break over a muggleborn student's sorrow.

Hermione had been a wreck for the last three days. She hadn't gone home on the train with the rest of her fellow students. She had stayed in the rooms she had occupied as Head Girl. The Doctors Granger had been Flooed in for the funeral, but Hermione barely spoke to them. The Potions Professor doubted that they even saw much of each other in the last few days. The headmaster had said something at breakfast this morning to the effect of 'whenever they wondered where she had got off to they asked for Snape'.

Once Severus had figured out where she was hiding, he would show up at mealtimes and force her to abandon the books with which she had surrounded herself. He had become accustomed to finding her on his couch whenever he returned from brewing replacements for the infirmary. She had been his assistant for well over a year now. It had only taken her a month to figure out his password.

_'How dare that boy do this to her!'_

The rage was back in full force. The rage that had once been directed at James Potter, then Sirius Black, had found a new target. The boy was just like his father, always thinking of himself. He never thought of what effect his actions would have on those around him, those who _loved_ him. He had always been thoughtless. This was just a continuation of that thoughtlessness. Nothing more, nothing less.

He could have asked for help, but no, that would have been admitting weakness. Merlin forbid, he had looked weak in front of all his fans. That would be just terrible, not like what he did. No, killing himself was the best course of action that he could have chosen; the stupid, insolent boy--the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice, three times, _seven_ times.

Ha! What a lie it all turned out to be.

Severus, of course, had known from the start that the boy wouldn't have the guts to defeat the Dark Lord and escape alive. The moment that Potter had winced at the sight of him, Severus had known. But Albus had just kept on about what great things he was bound to do, how he would lead the Wizarding world from the darkness.

Well, Albus hadn't had to deal with Hermione since the almighty Harry Potter's death. The old wizard hadn't been there to hear the girl--no, _woman_'s faint whisper calmly announcing the Boy Wonder's death and then asking about the temperature as if _that_ was the most distressing fact. He didn't see her face suddenly distort as she realized what she had said, the confusion and fear as she screamed. Instead of relieving darkness, the boy had inflicted it upon his _friends_.

Albus Dumbledore didn't know _shit_.

Severus watched Hermione fall to her knees, hands ripping at her kinky hair. Before he could think, he was pushing his way through the crowd. Her hands drifted from her hair to cover her face. All the while, the charm never failed, broadcasting her soft sobs to the entire crowd. After a quick finishing spell, he scooped up the young woman. A vicious glare stilled the youngest Weasley male. Then Severus disappeared into the castle.

No, Albus didn't know anything about anything this time.

----

'Snape,

We have never liked each other. I'm not going to make any mistake about that, don't worry. After Dumbledore's death, all I could think about was killing you, destroying Voldemort. I must admit that I had my doubts when the tips began being owled to Hermione. But there is something that I've been meaning to say for a while now.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry for what my dad and Sirius did to you. I'm sorry for suspecting you in our first year. I'm sorry for not listening to Hermione whenever she told me that you were on Dumbledore's side. I'm sorry for not paying attention in class of these years. I'm sorry for invading your privacy in my fifth year and not thinking of you as a member of the Order. I'm sorry for all that you have thought I've done to you and all that I did do.

Please take care of Hermione for me.

Harry J. Potter'


	5. A Matter of Choice

"A suicide kills two people, Maggie, that's what it's for." --Arthur Miller 'After the Fall'

Chapter Four: A Matter of Choice

The Great Hall was once again done up for a funeral. Black cloth hung from the walls where the House banners once hung. The mighty hourglasses that marked the House points had swathes of black silk draped over them. The tables were gone except for the Gryffindor table which was laden with food and drink. There were smaller round tables like those of the Yule Ball instead, and a variety of couches and chairs. Most of those couches and chairs were over by where the Slytherin table would be normally. Snape had Hermione on one of the divans and was now hovering behind her, acting for all intents like a guard.

Neville shook his head. He hadn't see that coming. He had always figured Hermione would end up with Ron, but the other boy was nowhere near the still crying girl. Ron was on the other side of the room glaring at the potion professor and the Head Girl. Neville repressed a shudder. Snape still scared him.

_'Why did you do it, Harry? You were our rock. We all depended on you. Why would you let us down when you've lifted us so high?'_

"A sickle for your thoughts, Neville," came a voice to his left. He didn't have to look to know that it was Ginny. He had memorized that voice since she was a third year. Even then, he had known that she would be enchanting someday. Neville halted his thoughts. He was at a wake. How could he think about that?

"Why would Harry do this?"

"I don't know, Neville," she answered quietly. They were silent for a long time. Neville noticed a horse-faced woman near the punch bowl. She kept wincing whenever somebody spoke to her. His usually muddled mind concluded that she must be Harry's aunt. She didn't appear broken up about Harry's sudden exit from this world. As a mark in her favor, though, she didn't look happy. She looked almost...scared. Neville only spared a moment to wonder why Harry's Uncle Vernon and cousin Dudley wasn't here.

"He saved us, Ginny, all of us."

Suddenly, the numbness faded away. His heart felt like it was being torn in two. Like flashes, bits of the last seven years played out in his head. He rode across the lake with Harry their first year. Harry returned the remembrall after Malfoy stole it. It was so hard to tell the Golden Trio that they could not sneak out. Harry told him about not having anything to worry about from the Chamber being open. Harry holding him back from fighting Crabbe and Goyle after they insulted his mother. Harry's eyes held so much pain as he hunched over Cedric's body. Harry believed so completely that the D.A. was necessary. Harry did not want anyone to get hurt because of him and was so guilty when he had led them to danger. Harry killed Voldemort.

He drifted back to the present. Every breath scraped his raw throat. His eyes were squeezed shut. Someone held him against her breasts. He could smell the fresh scent of their soap. There was also an underlying smell of lavender and tea. _'It's Ginny. It has to be.'_

"Shh, it's all right. It's going to be all right."

"He saved us, Ginny." The words hurt, but they came, grudgingly. "Why couldn't he save himself?"

----

'Dear Aunt Petunia,

Thank you for all that you have done for me over the years. Mum would have been grateful.

Love,

Harry J. Potter

P.S. I am leaving you a sum of 3 million Galleons. Please use it only on yourself. There is also a small house in Wales that Uncle Vernon could never find. If you ever choose to make use of it, you have only to go to the house of Arabella Figg. Stay safe.'


	6. Words Unspoken

"I saw you there. I saw you then. The greatest words: what might have been." --Old Proverb

Chapter Five: Words Unspoken

The lights from Hogwarts shone brightly even though all the students had left for the summer. They didn't reach this far, however. Only shadows and moonlight lit the grave of Harry James Potter and its late night visitor. Only shadows and moonlight to keep a great man company. It was sad really. No one stayed to keep him company.

No one _stayed_.

They were always leaving Harry alone. Those supposed friends of his would start to comfort him. Then something would happen and the moment would pass. They wouldn't try again. He needed them to try again. He needed _someone_ to try.

Harry never did have someone, did he?

_'You could have been that person, Draco.'_

It had all started as a true Slytherin's plot for power. Harry had been the perfect means to an end. But Harry chose a Weasley over a Malfoy. A Black could be understood, especially when the Black in question was reformed. But a Weasley? It just wasn't done. Then the mudblood had come along. They stood beside him in the place that should have been his. Somewhere it had changed to a driving need to be the center of his attention. Draco still didn't know when it had changed to love.

He had watched Harry for so long that it had been habit. Every year, he hunted for the other boy on the train to and from school. It had been keeping track of an enemy at first; had to get his attention so that he would never forget that he had chosen a Weasley over a Malfoy and _that_ didn't get forgotten by the Malfoy. Every day of seventh year, he hoped for those green eyes to look his way. It was only a matter of time before Draco began following him. He saw the plans for the Golden Trio's confrontation with the Dark Lord. As a Slytherin, he had found gold. He didn't use it. Gaining the Dark Lord's favor just didn't seem as important as it once had been.

Draco saw on the eve of the Final Battle how Weasel and Mudblood had left Harry alone in that shadowed, unused classroom to pursue their own ends. Draco saw what they couldn't. He saw the cracks appearing around the edges of the Golden Boy. He realized something that night as he watched Harry staring out the window, probably not seeing anything. Potter, the bane of his existence, the bane of the Dark Lord's existence, the one that everyone was counting on, was only a boy of seventeen who had never known his parents.

_'He was just a boy.'_

And all those people that laid all their hops on him were idiots. They were pitting a half-grown child against an old man who had study the Dark Arts since he had started at Hogwarts. It was ridiculous. It was absurd. Even if the child won, the darkness would have tainted him forever. It was hopeless. There was no victory.

But it was what they were doing--what they _did_.

_'Oh, Harry,'_ his mind lamented.

That last night was when he recognized that he would die for the other boy, that he would kill for that pain to be gone from Harry's eyes. His chance came the next day. His father raised his wand to cast the Killing Curse. Harry's attention was focused on the Dark Lord. Draco did the only thing his new insight would allow him to do. He greenlisted his own flesh and blood. Harry had turned to see Lucius fall. Those green eyes had finally looked at him with something other than resignation and anger.

_'Oh, Harry.'_

He had carefully avoided the Wizarding Hero since that day. He knew that Harry would ask him for a reason. It was only logical. The only reason Draco had for him would be a confession of obsession. Malfoys do _not_ admit to being obsessed. It _was not _done. It _cannot_ be done.

_'Oh, Harry, would it have saved you?'_

A sound finally ripped itself from his throat, a scream. It wasn't like the fit that Granger had thrown when she had been down in Professor Snape's lab. Draco was a Malfoy. _ 'Malfoys don't lose control.'_ It was just a solitary scream of rage and grief, a release valve. It held no terror, no horror. _'Malfoys don't lose control.'_

Only the moonlight saw the Malfoy heir fall to his knees. Only the shadows embraced him as he curled upon himself. _'Malfoys don't lose control.'_ That was his motto, his father's motto. It was a good motto. There was only one problem with it.

If Malfoys don't lose control, then why was he crying?

----

'Dear Draco,

I don't know if it's okay to call you by your first name, but since this is the last time I'm going to be I talk to, I doubt it matters. I guess you could say that I'm moving on tonight. Not that it really matters to you. Not that it should.

I'm babbling, aren't I?

I had best get to the point.

Thank you for what you did. I know that it could not have been easy. I told Dumbledore what Lucius was going to do. If the Ministry tries to charge you, he will defend you. He did it with Snape back during Voldemort's first rise. It kept Snape out of Azkaban.

There is another thing. I don't mean that I would go back and change what I did, but I regret not taking your hand. It's just that you insulted Hagrid, the first person to ever be nice to me, the first time we met and then you were insulting the first friend I had made in the Wizarding world. You just kept up in that trend with Dumbledore, then Hermione.

Maybe if things had been different, we could have been friends.

Well, I have plans to fulfill. Guess I'll see you on the other side?

Love,

Harry J. Potter'

----

Author's Note: If you or someone you know is thinking about suicide, talk to someone about it. Even if the first person does not believe you, others will. Do _not_ be embarrassed or ashamed. They are your feelings no matter how dark they are or how against sociality's norms. If you need to talk to someone immediately and you are in the US, call the suicide prevention hotline at 1-800-784-2433. Please do not make a permanent decision because of feelings that _are_ temporary. And remember this as well: there are always _someone_ who will miss you.


End file.
